Nobody's Child. Ann Major

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      Two

      Maybe it was the booze.

      Whatever. Cutter Lord was unaccustomed to the sense of uncertainty that filled him the minute he saw her heading toward the bar where he’d been hiding for more than an hour.

      Pale, creamy skin.

      Black cashmere over softly swelling breasts and taut nipples.

      So many years.

      And he still felt the same.

      Cheyenne’s eyes were warm and welcoming to everyone she saw and spoke to on her way toward him.

      But that would change, the minute she saw him.

      He swallowed what was left of his drink.

      He should pounce on her now.

      Instead he clung to the safety of the shadows and wondered what the hell to do next. The only other times in his life he had been at such a complete loss had been that moment just before dawn on the island when he’d known he’d fallen in love with her and then that single other time when he’d held his tiny son in his arms in the hospital and stared at her with such fury and longing that he’d made her cry.

      Suddenly the happier memories of that long-ago night on the island swamped Cutter. He had awakened just before dawn to find her naked body curled trustingly in his arms. He had gotten up, feeling excited and surprised at the strange tenderness he felt toward her, at the regret to leave her in bed alone, even so briefly.

      In confusion he had stared out at the ghostly glimmer of gray fog that shrouded the island. Then she had padded silently across the room and gently taken his hand.

      At the touch of her slim fingers closing around his, his spirits had rocketed, and all his loneliness, as well as the certainty that she was the wrong woman for any Lord, especially him, had vanished.

      Even as he had fought the power she had over him, he had wondered why he had ever thought she was unsuitable when she was the only woman who would do for him. He had kissed her forehead, her drowsy, thickly lashed eyes, her tousled red hair. He had wondered why he had ever thought money could matter between a man and a woman who had felt and shared what they had felt.

      Then they had begun to talk as if they had known each other their entire lives. She had told him of growing up in a small Texas town, of having a father who would not claim her, of having a half sister who hated her and who had been determined to best her, of having a beautiful, wild mother the whole town sneered at, of learning to like books with happy endings because her own life had not been so happy.

      And he had told her something of his life, too—of the great loneliness he had known ever since he’d been a boy. In fact, he had shared so much in those swift, fleeting moments, telling her everything about himself that had really mattered—except his real name.

      They had scampered down to the kitchen as if they were children and made a hasty breakfast of cold biscuits and milk and orange juice. And that simple shared meal had been wonderfully exciting because she was there, feeding him with her fingers.

      Then they had raced back to bed and made love again.

      He had known then, that for better or for worse, he had fallen head over heels in love with her.

      Then she had used her love to destroy him.

      Now it was his turn.

      Normally Cheyenne didn’t drink, but tonight she felt like it. She was ordering Scotch on the rocks, when Cutter’s silken baritone came from behind her.

      “Make mine a double.”

      Her smile vanished. Her green eyes turned to shards of ice.

      “The wages of sin must be paid, Cheyenne. The devil always claims his due.”

      But did he have to show up at the worst possible moment?

      For an instant the world stopped spinning.

      She whirled.

      There—behind СКАЧАТЬ